The Nephilim (16 page)

They should have been informed that there was an actual operation in place. Thomison should have called off the take down the instant he knew. But they hadn't been called off, and no one had told them that they were driving right into a real operation. That was the first big mistake and Barnes knew it wasn't theirs. And from it everything else had gone wrong.

The original plan had been that the three of them would drive in, sirens blaring, while the rest of the task force would be waiting for their entrance. The three of them were to provide the distraction which would allow the rest of the team to take Hamilton down quickly and safely. Meanwhile everyone who was there should either have been FBI agents who had been informed of what was happening, or Treasury agents dressed as FBI,  to allay his suspicions. It was an elaborate plan but well planned. Hamilton should have found himself surrounded by fifteen Treasury agents, all with guns pointed at him. He should have been taken.

But instead they'd driven up exactly on time and straight into the middle of a gun battle where they'd had absolutely no idea who was shooting at whom. There were just people in the woods shooting at other people in the woods. There was automatic fire coming from all directions. And the operation was going to hell. But they couldn't allow that to stop them. Because the one thing they knew was that they couldn't allow Hamilton to escape. If he did he would hunt them down and kill them in time. The panicking voice on the phone plugged into the car system kept telling them that.

Agent Thomison had shouted repeatedly at them that they were in danger. That Special Agent Hamilton had obviously not been caught by surprise after all, and that he had prepared his own ambush for them. That their fellow agents were in danger. Thomison had also yelled at them that Hamilton could never allow any of them to leave these woods alive. That to do so would blow his cover. So Hamilton and his men were going to kill them all. It was the last thing the agent had shouted at them before the phones had all gone dead. And it was then that they'd known that they had to catch him. It was that or everyone died. They had to protect their fellow agents.

So they'd got out of the car under fire, tracked down their quarry who was busy shooting at someone in a cabin, and taken him down. Exactly as they'd been required to. They had to protect the others. They were heroes! But then absolutely everyone had started shooting at them and they'd had to return fire.

After that things had got worse. They'd been shooting at everyone and everyone had been shooting at them. There had been no clear delineation between who was Treasury, who was FBI and who were Hamilton’s men. It had just been chaos. And they simply hadn't been prepared for that.

Massively outnumbered and not well enough armed they'd gone down, all of them taking bullets and two of them falling. Only Barnes had still been standing at the end. Then they'd been captured, something that had shocked him. He'd expected to be killed, not placed in handcuffs.

It was only when they'd found out that there were no other Treasury agents there, and that none of the FBI agents seemed to know what was happening, that they'd started to realise that something was wrong. Or at least he had. His colleagues were out of it by then. Unconscious and handcuffed to stretchers. Naturally he'd desperately tried to call Agent Thomison. Not on their phones since they had died for some reason, but on any phone he could lay his hands on. But even when they'd been being taken away in the ambulances no one had made the call for him no matter how many times he asked. They had however, told him that there were no other Treasury agents there. That they'd blundered into the take down of a serial killer. And that three more FBI agents as well as Hamilton were down because of their actions. How that could have happened he didn't know. It was all some sort of screw up. It had been a bad one. He knew that. But it wasn't theirs.

The other agents had been angry – he guessed he could understand that since they didn't seem to know about Special Agent Hamilton. But even when he told them they had been reluctant to act. They wouldn't even have arrested Hamilton if he hadn't insisted. Right from the start it had seemed that the FBI was closing ranks.
That was unprofessional.

The whole botched operation had simply been one disaster after another, and Barnes was certain that this was going to be the next one. A bad one judging from the thunderous scowl on his supervisor’s face. He just didn't know how exactly it was going to go wrong.

But looking at the piles of papers covering his supervisor's desk Barnes had an idea. He could see the photos of their phones sitting out in plain view, along with a pile of reports about them. Reports that should surely explain why all the phones had gone dead. But if they could recover the information on them then maybe they would finally have something to prove what they'd said as well. What he'd said anyway. The others weren't talking yet. They were probably lucky in that. Luckier than him anyway.

“You've got the reports on the phones Sir?”

There was no point in delaying the inevitable disaster that he knew was coming Barnes decided. It was like tearing off a plaster. Get it over with quickly. But when his supervisor abruptly glared at him he wondered if he was right to want that.

“Yes we have. And do you know what we found on those phones you were issued?”

Agent Barnes shook his head, already certain it would be bad. Everything was bad.

“Nothing! Absolutely nothing!”

The supervisor very nearly shouted it at him as if it was some sort of accusation. And yet there was nothing they could be accused of. They had done their job perfectly. It was everyone else who had let them down. Where had the rest of the task force been when they'd made the arrest? Why hadn't the FBI known what was happening? Where was Special Agent In Charge Thomison to sort everything out? And why had they released Special Agent Hamilton? Didn't they understand how dangerous he was?

“Our techs are saying that the phones were all wiped with a virus that had been preloaded on to them. So no phones, no recorded messages and no proof of anything. At this stage it's beginning to look as though you simply drove up on to an active scene and opened fire on Special Agent Hamilton. Certainly every bit of evidence we've got shows that.”

“He had a gun!”

“He was in the middle of a shoot out caused by your own blundering. Of course he had a gun!” This time the supervisor did give in to his anger and started shouting. “But it was empty and the FBI's own video shows that it wasn't pointed at any of you, and that you gave him no chance to come peacefully. You just screamed “gun” and opened fire. What the hell were you thinking?!”

“That he was a dangerous criminal! That he had killed one Treasury agent already! That others were under fire! That we didn't want to be killed ourselves!” And though he was beginning to doubt that it would count for anything, it was the truth. Barnes and the others had been frightened. And Hamilton had had a gun in his hand. And he had started to point it at them. Or at least, he thought he had.

“Ahh the dead agent.” The supervisor suddenly turned away so he couldn't see his face and grew strangely quiet and that was somehow even more frightening than when he'd been shouting. “What was his name again?”

“Agent Philip Ogden of the Washington Office.” That at least Barnes could tell him. He'd read the files and knew it cover to cover.

“And did you know that there has never been an Agent Philip Ogden in Treasury? We checked.”

For a moment Agent Barnes thought he'd misheard. Because it couldn't possibly be that the supervisor had said such a thing. But then a sense of dread began filling him as the truth filtered into his brain. No Agent Ogden? It not only couldn't be right, it also meant that they'd had no reason to arrest Special Agent Hamilton. Or not much reason anyway. No reason to be on the scene. It had to be some sort of mistake! Another one! And there seemed to be so many of them. But he'd seen the evidence with his own eyes.

“That's not possible. We were given detailed files. Autopsy photos. A coroner's report as well as the scene of crime reports. All of them were official. They were all on Treasury letterhead.”

“And where exactly are these reports?”

“We put them in the confidential destruction bins. But there were copies on the phones.”

A split second after he'd said it Barnes' mouth went dry as he suddenly understood just how much trouble they were in. If the phones had been wiped and there was no dead agent, then they had just tried to arrest an FBI agent for absolutely no reason. Or no reason that could be proved. And then they'd shot him. They were in deep trouble. Turning up in the middle of an operation and trying to arrest an agent and shooting him when he was effectively unarmed? They were all grounds for prison time.

“Call Agent Thomison. He'll confirm everything.” Barnes was desperate and he knew that only the agent could explain. He was his only hope. In the end he always had been – which was why he didn't understand why he hadn't been there already. He'd put in so many requests for him to be called. But a moment later that hope was taken from him.

“Who?”

It took a second for him to realise that his supervisor wasn't asking a question. He was making a point. And then it took another to understand the point his supervisor was making and then to let it sink in but eventually Barnes realised the truth and he could suddenly feel his entire life crumbling away in front of him. There was no Agent Thomison just as there was no dead Agent Ogden. It made no sense but he knew it was coming. And because of it he knew that much worse was coming. He waited for the axe to fall.

“Anything to say?”

Barnes shook his head, not trusting himself to speak just then.

“So let me see if I've got this right. You were part of a task force that was never created or sanctioned. You were led by an agent who isn't on the books as one of ours and were following up on the death of another agent who never existed. You drove on to an active scene lights flashing and precipitated a gun battle which got three FBI agents shot and ended in the shooting death of a suspect. You then arrested and shot another FBI agent without any cause. And finally you instigated another shoot out between our agency and the bureau. Have I about got that right?”

It was a rhetorical question and Barnes didn't answer him. He didn't even nod. He wasn't expected to. Which was lucky since he had no idea what to say anyway.

“So what have you got to say for yourself?”

“There was a task force and we were assigned to it. We got official letters. I gave you the file copy numbers. Meeting rooms were set aside for us within the department. And we were given specific training.” But even as he tried to defend himself Barnes knew that it wasn't going to be enough. Not without the man in charge.

“The file copy numbers relate to other letters and documents that have nothing to do with any task force. These rooms that were set aside, were set aside for cleaning. And you went for training that you weren't supposed to receive.”

It was then that Barnes knew there was only one thing he could say. The one thing every criminal should say at some point. And he was about to be charged with a crime. With a lot of crimes. But it was also the one thing he'd never expected to have to say. Never would have wanted to say.

“I want a lawyer.”

Chapter Ten

Life out of the hospital should have been a good thing. But the reality was that it was not much better than the long days and nights he had spent in it. At least that was Garrick's view. By leaving the hospital he had simply replaced one hell with another. It shouldn't be like that.

The hospital had been bad. Day after day of lying there – staring at a ceiling much of the time because his injuries and his thigh high cast had made it difficult to even sit up in bed – had been an eternity to him. He'd wanted to get out, to go for a run and spend some time in the gym. He'd wanted to be on the hunt for his next criminal. He'd wanted to do anything rather than lie there and swallow pain killers, antibiotics and anti-inflammatories without end. And he really hadn't wanted to spend his days talking with his fellow patients. It wasn't personal. It was just that they'd had nothing in common with him. Nor he with them.

Of course it had been made worse when day after day he'd been interrogated by both Treasury and FBI agents, poked and prodded by the medical staff, tormented by the physiotherapists as they tried to get him up, and then had to listen to the endless madness of the reporters on the TV as they exposed his entire life. He was famous – but not for a good reason. Simply because he'd been the victim of an interdepartmental screw up of colossal proportions. One that was being debated at the highest levels. His name was actually being thrown around in Congress.